Golden Sun: The Campaign
by someguy2023
Summary: The origins of the four heroes of Angara and how they each awakened on the day of the storm. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I do not own Golden Sun, though I wish I could make a Square Enix style animation adaption... oh well.

Please enjoy my hilarious attempt at writing, for this is my very first fanfiction ever. Thanks.

The Storm: Awakening

The rain was pounding mercilessly on the ground. Isaac was wandering aimlessly around the village after witnessing the suffocating horror of his father being crushed by that infernal boulder. Traumatized by the events that had taken place, he found himself nearing a cliff ledge, uncertain of what his next actions were.

It was then he heard two strangers violently conversing among the trees. He didn't care. He didn't have the heart to care about who they were or what they were saying; it was too muddled by the horrifying scene he had just witnessed.

But his train of thought was broken when they advanced on him, accusing him of eavesdropping, and brandishing their weapons in a threatening manner. He was fourteen years old, staring into the most ruthless, fearsome red eyes he had ever seen.

Common sense would of told him to run away as fast as possible, to flee from the present danger. However, Isaac's state of mind was hardly controlled by logic, but was riddled with a lethal mixture of emotions: trauma, shock, resentment, shame, sorrow, anger... He could have fled. He should have fled. But a part of him wanted to fight, wanted to lash out in rage and despair. Maybe a part of him wanted to be reckless, to do something dangerous and subconsciously end his own life, freeing himself from all the painful emotions that were poisoning him from the inside. Whatever the reason was, he stood his ground, drawing out his own machete as he prepared to battle with the two mysterious strangers. Garet stood loyally by his side despite the irrationality behind it all.

Isaac took the initiative against the Mystery Man, charging furiously and gripping his machete with two white knuckles. He dashed forward with intensity, stomping at the ground with full force splashing the puddles riddled across the muddy ground. As he got into range, he swung with all his might at the target in front of him, intending to slice anything that deterred its path. His nemesis looked him boldly into the eye without as much as a flinch.

Isaac's strike was completely halted by his opponent's blade. What was truly foreboding was the fact that he was holding his sword with a single hand… He wasn't even in a stance, but simply stood there with a formal posture, as if to mock his ineffectiveness. Isaac sidestepped to his right, hoping to find some sort of an opening. The blue-haired man stayed absolutely still, leaving his rear completely exposed. Isaac lunged forward hoping to make contact with flesh, but his sword was halted once again as the man slung his blade over his shoulder and behind his back. His sword still held the tenacity of solid rock, unmoving despite the amount of force Isaac applied to his machete.

Repeatedly, the battle ensued with Isaac looking for every opportunity he could find to strike his foe, but each of his endeavors was met with disappointment. No matter how many blows he dealt nor how much force he put into his swings, they were effortlessly halted by his blade in the most impossible angles, which he still wielded with only a single hand.

The blue-haired swordsman took the initiative. His attack was relentless, constantly keeping up with Isaac at a distance too close for comfort. But… it was bizarre. Despite the constant pressure his opponent was applying, he could read every movement he made, as if it were in slow motion. A diagonal swipe from his right, a blow to his head, an uppercut from the bottom left, a backhand slash to the neck, a stab aiming at his heart… he could see it all, and acted accordingly.

The blue-haired swordsman had put too much force into his next stab. Isaac could literally _distinguish_ the inertia in his thrust and quickly brought his sword up forcefully to his right, knocking the blade sideways. The man stumbled forward in order to maintain his balance, however, the reason was not because of Isaac's maneuver. The instant he had stomped on the ground to magnify his swing, the man swore he felt something like a tremor. A quake, if you must.

Isaac used the momentum in his swing to spin around, step forward, and slash again from the right in what can only be described as a magnificent twirl, outstretching his right arm to ensure achieving the maximum distance his sword could reach. However, it was not far enough. The man leaned back the moment before Isaac's sword could hit its true mark, but a single scratch was laid on his pale-blue cheek.The man brought his fingers up to his face and looked intently at the crimson stain.

"Blood…" he whispered in disbelief.

His eyes brimmed with a malevolent gleam as brought his free hand up above his head. For a split second, a demonic aura had surrounded the man, who now wore a mischievous grin on his face, and charged at Isaac again. He was fast, but Isaac saw it coming and brought his machete up horizontally across his face to guard…

The sound of the two swords clashing was catastrophic to his eardrums. It reverberated along the cliff wall behind him in a menacing echo. The shock of such a sheer amount of force shook Isaac to his very core. He examined his own blade. It was vibrating madly with a large indent in the center.

There was a _dent_ in his sword…

Before Isaac could react, the monster lashed again. Not only were his blows unimaginably powerful, they came in such quick succession it was almost impossible to counter, to find an opening, or to even rest. After blocking the fifth blow, Isaac could bear it no more. His hands were beginning to bleed. Just by blocking the monstrous attacks, the hilt of his own sword was cutting deeper into his hands…

The mixture of blood and rainwater seeped into his palms, and along with his weakening grip, his demented machete was knocked clean out of his grasp. His opponent sliced at him again, and without any method of protection, left a deep tearing gash that stretched diagonally across his chest in a brutal fashion. The overwhelming shock and pain had overcome his senses, and with that he slowly seeped into unconsciousness; his desecrated body lay strewn across the muddy path.

* * *

Garet was closely following Isaac from behind, preparing to land a consecutive blow on the man after Isaac dealt his. He was never given the chance; the blonde-haired girl had dashed at him from his right, attempting to cut him off, and struck him with her scythe.

Garet had never trained with anyone wielding a scythe and was rather clueless on how to defend against one. It was only natural for him to try and block her attack by the shaft, but was unaware of the true length of the scythe's blade. He was rewarded with a searing pain centered in his left arm. Although he halted the weapon, the curved blade attached at the end was unfaltered, piercing the flesh in his left bicep.

He cringed at the intense pain coursing through his body. This was his first experience of being stabbed and was unprepared for such a tormenting sensation. Hindered by the stifling agony in his arm, Garet was forced to wield his sword with only his right hand. The woman withdrew her scythe and stroke again, this time aiming for the fleshy joint in his neck. Garet ducked immediately as the scythe grazed the tips of his flaming hair and rolled away to safety, thinking it's best to just dodge the attacks entirely.

However, before he could even regain his footing, his opponent had already advanced behind him and within reaching distance. Her attack was too close to dodge. In sheer desperation, Garet brought his sword up to halt the scythe at the blade instead of the shaft. But the curvature of the blade made it nearly impossible to block as the scythe simply slid along the length of his machete, shifting its pathway towards his right arm. However, her attack was stalled by Garet's endeavor, giving him less than a fraction of a second to pull his arm away from the threatening edge, leaving only a minor scratch across his forearm.

He hadn't noticed it before. Maybe it was because of the panic and fear that had prevented him from discerning it in her three preceding blows. Nevertheless, her last attack had made it abundantly clear: the scythe had a ridiculously long retaliation time. The follow-through of the weapon was particularly wide… perhaps wide enough to give him an opening.

Without a second thought, Garet took the initiative and decided to strike first before she had any chance to prepare for her next attack. Just as he predicted, before she could draw back her scythe to deal the next blow, she was forced to bring her guard up in order to block Garet's swing. His attacks had no designated target; they were merely present to preoccupy his opponent, stalling for time until he could come up with a more effective strategy. Despite the futility of it all, it was better than being pierced by her daunting blade again.

Garet's slew of attacks continued to prevent the women from properly assaulting. Without having time to correctly set up her swings, they diminished in rapidity, allowing Garet to safely dodge her endeavors. Frustrated by her failed attempts, she disjointed her scythe at the point which the blade met the shaft, and now wielded a deathly looking scimitar in her left hand and a pole arm in her right.

Garet was stunned by the sudden change in the status quo, unable to adapt to such a dissimilar fighting style. Unfortunately enough, he did not have any experience with a dual-weapon wielder either. He charged again hoping to deal the first blow, unchanging from his previous approach. She easily deflected his strikes with the nimbleness of her light-blade. In one clean motion, she knocked his sword away with a backhand slash while her rod followed in quick succession, forcefully hammering into Garet's rib cage. He nearly doubled over from the impact of the blow. While staggering backwards, the woman advanced again and brought her scimitar to slice at his chest. He blocked the blade with his own machete, but once again left her other weapon unattended as it connected directly to the side of his head.

It was becoming incredibly difficult to even grasp consciousness, let alone stand. The splitting pain that echoed throughout his head combined with the blunt force trauma in his side and the loss of blood from the gash in his left arm were taking its toll, exhausting him with every breath he took. His opponent had dashed up to him with such amazing agility and speed, it left him momentarily stunned by her prowess. He closed his eyes in preparation for her next excruciating blow, but all she simply did was hold out her left arm, her sword angled horizontally over his chest. He stared incredulously at her merciful gesture, but saw a tiny ball of light forming at the front of her blade…

An explosion had erupted at the edge of her scimitar, with him caught right in the epicenter of the shock wave. He was sent flying backwards, slamming into the trunk of a tree nearly fifty feet away. Completely bewildered by such an unexpected attack, Garet tried to comprehend what had just happened. Who in the world was he fighting with?

As the blonde-haired woman marched ominously towards him, it finally dawned on Garet what she really was. Who else could create explosions? Somehow, in a peculiar turn of events, he had gotten himself into a fight with a master Fire Adept…

Just as he had revealed the identity of the warrior's true expertise, she brought her staff up and waved it in a majestic fashion. A pillar of fire had appeared out of thin air, impervious to the heavy rain that sizzled instantly as it came in contact with the flames. It encircled the poor unsuspecting boy and engulfed him in an endless reign of burning torment…

At least… that was what he expected.

The swirling flames had scorched the ground he was sitting on, the tree he was leaning against, and even the air he was breathing, creating a sickly oxidized smell. However, the flames merely licked his body without any sensation of pain at all. In fact, it was quite comforting… soothing actually. After regaining his footing into the charred ground, he then noticed that his body was _fusing_ with the fire that had enveloped him. He held out his left hand in an open manner, his fingers bonding with the dancing flames at the tips. He quickly clenched his hand shut into a tight fist. In response, the surrounding conflagration dissipated immediately.

The blonde-haired warrior gazed at the scene with a look of perplexity on her face. One moment she had witnessed the flare of fire swallowing up the red-haired boy and torching everything within its vicinity. The next, the fire had disappeared via a force that wasn't her own. The boy had walked out of the inferno without a single burn on him, strolling away from the blackened remains of the earth and tree.

The small window of opportunity gave Garet enough time to launch himself at the woman, leaping high into the air preparing to bring his sword crushing down on her. He swung with such ferocity as if he intended to splinter her rod if she even attempted to impede his blade. Their eyes met for a split second right before his attack was about to land, looking intently at each other. She simply smirked.

Garet's machete came crashing down on its target, merely inches away from reaching the temple of her head. And then…

His blade had cut nothing but air.

The woman had simply vanished from her current position. He searched frantically to see where she had gone. If she wasn't in front of his view, then she must be…

"Miss me?" a seductive voice whispered into his ear from behind. "What a shame…" she simply sighed, as she drove her blade deeply into Garet's back.

Garet looked down, beholding a bloody scimitar protruding from his own chest. His vision blurred, overwhelmed by the wicked pain coursing through out his body. Unable to support his own weight, his knees crumpled to the floor as the woman removed her sword from his back, tearing the tissue as it slithered out.

The battle soon became a fleeting memory as he slumped over, creeping into oblivion.

* * *

It was a peculiar scene: a blonde child was sitting on the rooftop of a tower, his feet dangling over the edge. If he were to fall, it would take him nearly six seconds for him to reach the unforgiving surface, but in his own perspective it would only feel like one. But he wasn't afraid; he's never been afraid of heights.

The child's name was Ivan, who had been adopted by the wealthy merchant Hammet. The magnificent castle of Kalay had become his home, but despite the magnitude of the palace, it always felt… stifling.

He loved the outdoors: the wind blowing against his face and the copious amount of fresh air. It felt so natural, like a fish swimming in a crystal clear lake. Even he couldn't explain his strange affinity for the wind. He was just born with it.

The castle tower was the highest point in Kalay, excluding the mountain range off in the distance. The winds could blow freely without interruption, without being bound by obstacles and trees. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could think and reflect on everything: his studies, his views, his beliefs, and his philosophies. He would simply sit on the rooftop and listen to the wind… no… "listen" would be the wrong word to use. He would _bond_ with the wind, sensing every little shift in detail and every tiny change in pressure. He was one with the wind.

His face grew in concern as the breeze picked up in speed. 'How odd…' he thought to himself. 'Maybe a storm was coming.' He looked upon the horizon to see if there were any abnormalities: a perfect blue sky. However, he couldn't see anything beyond the mountain range.

Ignorant of the events unfolding past the mountains, he shook off his trepidation as a mere fluke, returning to his usual state of meditation. Only moments after closing his eyes, he felt a droplet of water gently fall on his cheek. He quickly opened them, bewildered by the sudden shift in light. It was perfectly sunny a few minutes ago, but now it was as black as night. How could such a fierce storm appear so swiftly?

It was then he saw the dangerous flashes of light in the distant, accompanied by the crackling sound of thunder. As he recalled the nature of lightning, he was petrified with fear.

'Lightning always strikes the highest point.'

Ivan felt a static chill slowly crawl up his spine. He was standing at highest point within thirty miles. He knew it was coming; it would of been strange if it didn't. Still, out of a simple reflex, he held his right hand out as if to shield himself from the threatening jolt… It was then, he saw it.

They say lightning can't be seen by the naked eye, that it was too fast for humans to witness. But he saw it, and nor was it only an ephemeral flash. He saw the streak of lightning as it traveled down towards him, discerning every single fork of energy that it created. It came closer and closer, until it was merely inches from his open palm. He braced himself to endure the unbearable sting of a full-fledged lightning bolt…

It never came.

Right before it came into contact with Ivan's hand… it split. He couldn't count how many strands it split into: Maybe a dozen. Maybe two dozen. Maybe even more. It didn't matter; what's important was the fact that the lightning bolt _split_, traversing around Ivan and inflicting a crude circle into the rooftop, with him directly in the center of it.

His footing gave out as the bolt came in contact with ledge he was standing on, disintegrating the very structure of it. It was than did he realize what was awaiting him as he sunk with the crumbling ridge, falling to his impending doom. It was supposedly a six second drop, but in his perspective it felt like one. One second of fear, one second of panic, and one second of sheer desperation.

He stretched out his cloak hoping to diminish the impact with the cold earth. At that exact moment a tremendous updraft had surged from the depths below, almost as if he willed it to happen. He felt himself slowing down in velocity as the forceful wind suspended him upwards.

He hit the ground hard, but he was still alive. He looked around at the rocks and debris that had fallen with him, shattered into a million pieces on the stone floor. And yet, he was still breathing.

It was impossible...

"...like catching lightning in a bottle." Ivan choked out quietly, grinning at the irony of it.

As the guards came running out of the castle to see what had happened, Ivan's grasp on reality began to weaken as he drifted off into a deep slumber.

* * *

The snowy town of Imil… True, snow has become synonymous with this humble village in the north. But still, the town had never experienced a blizzard with such intensity before. The fierceness of the wind blew the snow at an almost perpendicular angle; slicing anything it came into contact with, utilizing a mixture of icy coldness and intense velocity.

Mia was caught in the Mercury Lighthouse when the storm hit, stranding her inside the building complex. She only wanted to figure it out, wanted to know how Alex could enter the lighthouse when she couldn't. Alex simply told her "it's an ability that's been passed down our clan." If that were truly the case, then why couldn't she open that frustrating door of light?

It didn't matter now. She was tired, cold and hungry. She just wanted to go back home, sitting in the warmth of her fireplace. The hard stone floor of the lighthouse was driving her mad. She had made up her mind; she was leaving.

As Mia walked out of the threshold of the lighthouse, she was immediately blinded by the flurry of snow and ice. It froze, or burned, she couldn't even tell, every inch of her exposed skin. She was used to the snow and the cold winters of Imil, but this was something else entirely. Never in her lifetime has she ever experienced a storm this potent, so incredibly brutal that it didn't even seem natural. But it wasn't going to stop her; nothing was going to force her to sit in that bare room of unforgiving marble any longer.

A foot of snow was covering everything in site. As she walked towards her beloved town, she wasn't even completely sure if she was walking on the right path. Nevertheless, she continued her trek, enduring the vicious weather until she could reach the comfort of her home, fantasizing about a hot bowl of pepper soup and a cup of delicious hot chocolate.

It was then she realized the creaking sound underneath her footsteps. Did she step on a small bush? Or was it something else…

She took another step and heard a large crack.

She was walking on ice. Thin ice. Before she was even given the chance to move, the ground below her gave away, shattering into broken pieces and swallowing her into the icy river. Mia fought desperately to keep her head above water and tried to find some form of footing, but the freezing water worked quickly on her nerves, numbing her muscles and senses with a frightening swiftness. She found it strenuous to even twitch her fingers as she slowly sank into the depths of the water.

'I only wanted to go home...'

It was her last thought before she faded into the abyss.

Mia sat up violently in a state of alarm. She found herself tucked tightly beneath a comfy multi-layered bed cloth with a roaring fire across the room and a bowl of soup on the nightstand beside her bed. Looking around, she saw the familiar charcoal drawings framed on top of the drawer. She had somehow awoken in her own room.

A young man with long blue hair like her own had quietly opened the door, peeking inside to see if she had woken up. He had an expression of the utmost relief on his visage, and quickly strolled to the side of her bed.

"Please… don't talk Mia. Just lie down and rest. I'll explain everything to you." He lowered her slowly into the fluffy pillow and grabbed a wooden chair, sitting at her bedside.

"You were found after the storm was over, lying on the riverbank with half your body still in the water. We weren't sure how long you've been exposed to the cold, but we quickly brought you to the house and soaked you in a hot bath." He blushed ferociously as he spoke the last line. "Don't worry… I honestly didn't see anything."

Mia simply giggled at his bashfulness and his modesty.

"How long did the storm last?" she asked.

"It lasted for nearly two days." He replied solemnly.

She vaguely remembered going to the lighthouse and being stranded by the blizzard and also her frustration of waiting it out. She figured she didn't even stay in the lighthouse for more than a few hours before leaving and traversing through the coarse weather.

A sudden realization had hit her… If they found her after the storm had ended, then it meant that she had been floating in the freezing river for more than an entire day. She knew she had a strong resistance to the cold… but this was just ridiculous.

"Say, Alex…" Mia asked in a timid whisper. "Where did you say you found me again?"

"…We found you on the bank of the river near the bridge in town," Alex replied reluctantly, as if the memory alone was painful to recall, "nearly frozen to death..."

She clearly remembered falling into the river near the lighthouse, but they claimed to have found her unconscious form lying by the bridge in town…

How could someone float_ upstream_?

* * *

It was on the day of the dreadful storm that our fellow adepts unlocked their psynergy. It marked the birth of the heroes of Weyard, the day they began to hone their skills to their true potential, and the beginning of a legacy that would change the world forever.

The four adepts slept soundly in unison, unknowing of the ordeals that would befall them in the future.

A/N – Read and Review, thanks.


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